


Sex, Shine and Slaughter

by Doitsuki



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Codenames, Corruption mechanics, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Every type of sex in this fic is consensual, Everyone Hates Celebrimbor (there's a reason), Fugitives, Heist, Jewelry, Just illegal shit and crime in general lol, M/M, Minor Character Death, Money, Multi, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Platonic Cuddling, Prison, Rimming, Robbery, Shoplifting, Verbal Abuse, believe it or not, diamond kink, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor and Mairon of the Angband Syndicate are in hiding, having been anonymously told that the cops were after them. Away from their Headquarters and living with each other, they manage to get by.<br/>One day, they receive a phone call all but demanding their services.<br/>What follows is a wild ride. </p><p>[Modern!AU. Angbang in a non-abusive relationship (though they do fight). Mafia/Crime! Au also. GG]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw someone on Tumblr saying how there was too much abuse and not enough fluff in Angbang fanfic. So, I thought 'why don't I write something where they are in a loving relationship'?  
> Long story short, they don't follow me anymore so I thought 'ay I have 18k words done why not post it on the Archive'. Here is the fic.  
> [pls scroll down and read disclaimer on my profile](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/profile)  
> Warnings: Close cuddling among family, people being mean to Celebrimbor, said Celebrimbor being a bit of an ass, he's not the scapegoat tho just how I characterize him, he's had a hard life, uhh illegal and immoral things, lots of screaming later on... oh, and codenames. SO MANY CODENAMES.

Melkor only wanted a day of peace. One calm, single day where he could indulge in the fine pleasures of life without worrying about who was trying to kill him. At present, thousands of people wanted him dead. He couldn’t care less, not here in his temporary home made from a shipping container in the middle of nowhere. Laying upon an improvised box couch, he held his lover Mairon close and bestowed upon him many languid, heavy kisses. Mairon responded by parting his lips and gripping Melkor’s dark shirt with his clean, sharp nails. This was in all honesty the most perfect situation he could ask for – and as Melkor became lost in the endless sweet warmth of Mairon’s mouth, his troubles melted away. The gentle throb of arousal urged him to change lazy pace to something a little more exciting, and as he tried to breathe he grunted as Mairon nipped his neck. Mairon had gradually positioned himself atop Melkor and was far too comfortable to change. Melkor smirked. He could work with that.

Just as he threaded his fingers through Mairon’s soft golden hair and pulled him in for another deep kiss, a devastating shrill noise echoed through their home.

“Leave it.” he growled, holding Mairon a little more securely by the hair. His next advance was met with thin air. Mairon was leaning back, staring at the cellphone as if it offended him.

“It’s important. Let me go.” Melkor released him at once but soon wrapped his arms around Mairon’s soft waist, snuggling into his neck.

“Come on… It’ll stop soon.”

The phone continued ringing with the most generic beep-beep-beep tone ever to be installed as a default. It was Mairon’s throwaway phone, with the GPS tracking device removed. Mairon squirmed, a dangerous glint flashing in his amber eyes.

“Boss. You gotta-”  
Then the phone stopped. Mairon sank into Melkor’s embrace, his hair spilling in rich curls all over the place. “Damn it.”

“Why do you care? It’s probably a telemarketer or some shit, let it go.” Melkor’s flat palm stroked the roundness of Mairon’s ass, easily taking a massive handful of all there was to offer. “There are better things to do, hm?”

Just as Mairon went to shake his head and slide back into endless, easy kisses, the phone vibrated. Instantly he jumped up and vaulted over Melkor to the crate, where his phone rested. After typing a few numbers, he put the voice message on Speaker mode. Melkor groaned.

_‘I have a bad feeling about this…’_

**“So you’re playing Mr Busy, eh? No problem with that. I know the feel. But you’re going to make time for us Finwions, and you’re going to make it _soon_.”** The sharp, clear voice of a mutual acquaintance snarled from the phone. **“We got a deal to make, real professional, high stakes and all that. 100k upfront if you case the joint, nothin’ shady required. If you’re in, bring yourself and that lapdog of yours to the Silver Spoon tomorrow at 7pm. Ask for Fancyman. If you even think about playing games, we’ve got a hole in the ground with your corpse’s name on it. See ya.”** The message ended, and Melkor nearly ripped his own face off.

“Jeeeesus, that guy has no chill _at all_. Which one was he again?”

“Maedhros. The tall one with the pretty face. See, I _told_ you we should’ve picked up-”

“Ohhh I get it, I GET IT, you’re right, I’m wrong, the world’s ending, blah blah blah. We go tomorrow. Now get back here.” The look Melkor received for ordering his lover around was one so scathing it could peel skin away better than acid. “Please?”

“Mhn.” Mairon merely squinted at him and shook his head. At a safe distance where he could keep his thoughts straight, he spoke to Melkor from the middle of the shipping container. “That restaurant is one of Fëanor’s biggest connections and arguably his favourite meeting spot. We can count on the whole family being there to jump us if we screw up. Knowing this, are you still in?”

“Uh huh.” Melkor nodded, leaning back until his head touched the corrugated iron wall. “100k to case a joint. Easy money.”

“You don’t even _know_ where we’re going! What if it’s a maximum security vault and we’re preparing for a heist?”

“Even better. Haven’t had a good pull in ages, and we _are_ in need of money.” Despite having a few million dollars back at their headquarters (mostly dispersed through various bank accounts), Melkor always considered acquiring more funds. The Finwions had _billions_ , and ever was their success rubbed in his face. Sometimes even Mairon used it as motivation.

“I do wonder, though. Why has he called _us_? We have no connections or debts…” Mairon twirled a lock of his hair between two fingers, hips cocked at a slight angle. “Hmm.”

“Whatever it is will be explained tomorrow. It’s a restaurant we’re going to, prolly to meet somewhere at the back. You up for… a little dinner date?” Melkor’s lascivious wink scrunched half his face in, dramatic and hopeful. Mairon rolled his eyes.

“Be serious! We don’t need any more public exposure for the next few months – are my home-cooked meals not good enough for you?”

“Noooo no no no, they’re fine, I just, ah… it’s nice to go out sometimes, innit?”

“Hmph. You can have me for dinner when we get back.” Mairon curtly turned his head and looked back at his phone, avoiding Melkor’s gaze. “Just be gentle with the knives.”

“Ooohoho.” Melkor rose from the couch and stalked the ten feet distance between them into nothing. He towered over Mairon, being 1’4 taller than him and seemed a little threatening with his unusually large stature. This close… and Mairon had to look up, staring at the underside of his lover’s hooked nose. “Come to think of it… I do feel a little peckish.”

Mairon’s face reddened beyond his control, warmth relaxing his lower body as Melkor bent down. “Yes,” he murmured into his lover’s thick neck “…we also have some unfinished business.”

They spent the night feasting on ass until finally Melkor fell asleep between his two most favourite pillows. Come morning, Mairon was overstimulated and drifting between various states of arousal when he woke up.

“Melk…” he muttered, nudging their massive patchwork quilt around in an attempt to catch sight of his lover. “Mnh, what are you doing?”

Melkor was fast asleep right in Mairon’s butt and gave no response, only clutching those soft cheeks once Mairon tried to move. In dreams, his grip was surprisingly strong and Mairon had to kick him to find freedom.

“Agh! The fuck… was that for…?” Melkor groaned sleepily as he rubbed the growing bruise on his shoulder.

“For being lazy.” Mairon was not one to procrastinate and jumped out of bed, ready to start the day. “The sun’s coming up, and I’ll make you some breakfast. We’ve got to eat right and dress proper if we’re to survive today.”

It took Melkor a few minutes and some prompts from Mairon to remember what they had to do, and he rolled over with a long moan.

“Auuugh, can’t you wait? We have hours until the meeting.”

“I’ll just go and prepare food on my own, then?” Mairon made for the other end of their home but Melkor rolled out of bed and chased him.

“No, I’m coming. Waaait.” Melkor yawned without bothering to cover his mouth, wandering nude after his lover. Mairon shrugged on a casual robe he kept by the doors for this exact time and exited.

Their shipping container was one of many at the abandoned docks in the Bay of Helcar. Here, it was almost always cold but Melkor and Mairon could deal with it well enough. They had many warm clothes plus each other’s bodies to stave off the glacial winter freeze. Melkor was hit by a blast of frigid air the second he stepped outside, and found himself randomly erect and shivering. Mairon took the usual path up and around some other containers to ascend, where there was a little hole cut into the side of one. This was their kitchen, where the roof was ventilated with many stab wounds and the wind could not bother Mairon’s cooking. Melkor always went with him no matter the hour, for he did not trust to leave his lover alone in the desolate docks. Mairon of course could look after himself well enough… but it was good to have Melkor moving around instead of laying about. The last thing he needed was _more_ laziness.

Once inside the ‘kitchen’, Mairon set a single piece of wood beneath a welded iron frame and lit it with a match. “Alright, what do you want?” he yelled, Melkor hearing his muffled voice from down below.

“We got any bacon?!”

Mairon checked in the many colourful crates nearby and pulled out an icebox, in which some frozen bacon was contained.

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh…” Melkor drawled on and on until he came to the decision of “Toast!”

Mairon fell silent then as he diligently worked at preparing breakfast, defrosting the bacon over the flame and cooking it atop a sheet of foil. He made enough toast for himself and his boss, scraping some sleeping butter from a package onto each slice. After having lived with Melkor for some sixteen odd years, he knew what the man liked. He himself could eat butter straight with a knife and slathered it all over his toast. Some black coffee and a few choice items later, he set everything in a multi-tiered cake stand and covered it with a metal lid. Outside, he shouted to be heard above the seaside ambience. The usual gulls shrieked and the ocean roared, roiling with an early morning rage. “MELK! IT’S READY!”

Melkor gave a thumbs up and went up the stairs, following Mairon to sit on the roof of another container. This one had an L-shaped steel panel screwed and melted to the top, which they could use as a backrest. They sat beside each other and picked at their food, the cake stand somewhat shielded from the wind. As Melkor tried not to eat his own long black hair and Mairon had his own tied up, an orange glow rose above the horizon. It was their tradition to watch both sunrise and sunset, side by side with Melkor on the left and Mairon on the right. Melkor’s arm remained around Mairon’s waist, his entire body naturally leaning towards him. Though he was very heavy, Mairon did not mind. In a way, Melkor’s presence was comforting and not as overwhelming as it had once been.

“Ahh… you give me life, you know that, right?” Melkor said through a mouthful of bacon on toast. A serene smile spread across Mairon’s face, lighting him up as brightly as the new dawn.

“Yes… but it is always nice to hear.” He sipped the last of his small coffee and nudged his cheek against Melkor’s arm. “I love you, Melk.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Silver Spoon was the fanciest restaurant in the Shire, which was a middle-class town in the Central West of Arda. From the Bay of Helcar by express train it took a few hours to get there, passing through the Blue Mountains and all sorts of lovely sights. Melkor and Mairon paid no attention to their surroundings at all, and spent the journey talking strategy in their private cabin. Being members of a notable gang with oodles of money had its benefits – nobody came to bother them, and their curtains remained drawn without arousing suspicion.

“Alright, we’ll be in and out without hassle, and you’ll let me do the talking, alright?” Mairon looked into Melkor’s eyes, relaxing in his seat by the window with one arm on the ledge and the other on the table before him.

“Mnh, it’s not fair. You act like I can’t hold a conversation.” Melkor pouted and fingered a handgun that lay on the table, clicking the trigger back and forth. The safety was on but it was loaded just in case. Travel for them was dangerous, especially during their designated downtime. Months ago they’d received a tip to lay low, and Melkor, always paranoid, had taken it to heart. They only had a few weeks left to stay in their temporary home, Mairon hoped. He was beginning to loathe the early chills and lack of thrills. Not having servants and soldiers around was just too much of a disconnect for him. Melkor was merely happy wherever Mairon was. He felt that way now, sitting beside him on the soft velvet seat with a hand on his thigh. He touched Mairon whenever he could, just to show him that he was there. Supporting. And maybe, just maybe, to remind himself that Mairon was there for him too.

“You are a wonderful conversationalist, love. Just… not with the Finwions. They hate everyone, you know. Even themselves.” Mairon implored Melkor not to argue this, for it was well known just how dysfunctional Arda’s biggest mafia was. Headed by the Kingpin Finwë (surname unknown), there were three divisions of his family. Fëanor’s Seven, Fingolfin’s Four, and Finarfin’s Three. They were all referred to as the sons of Finwë, in Quenya their native language. Half of Arda was populated with people from Aman, and Melkor had made a point to learn the second language just so nobody could insult him. Mairon just happened to be fluent in it and Sindarin, a lesser known variant. The infamous Finwions always had some sort of strife between them, sometimes breaking out into fights and wars. Finwë however had made a rule that if it came to gunfire, rubber bullets were to be used. He loved all his children, did not want to see them die, and knew their tempers would flare regardless of whether or not he ordered them to play nice. Finwion battles were something every other family quietly mocked. Mairon meanwhile gave no shits, and focussed on the task at hand.

“You will make the final decision, though.”

“Good.” Melkor nodded. “I can’t wait to get some of that 100k.” He trailed his fingers to Mairon’s inner thigh and squeezed the softness there. “Mm, thinking about money really gets me-”

“Oh, keep it in your pants! We have to look proper for this, and I did not spend an hour combing my hair for you to mess it up.” Mairon swatted Melkor’s hand away as he fully well knew what their brief dalliances lead to. Already a swirling heat pooled in his groin and his heart beat a little faster, his breath coming short when Melkor’s knuckles brushed past his crotch. “Come on. We’re on a mission… _Boss_.”

Melkor had always found it hard to keep his hands away from his beautiful Mairon when they were in public, despite knowing the circumstances. They couldn’t be seen flirting because when a gang leader had romantic relations, it ended up as blackmail ripe for extortion. Melkor didn’t want Mairon kidnapped if things turned bad, and so they maintained the appearance of Boss and Underboss whenever they went out. Melkor in his black trenchcoat with professionalism beneath all that menace while Mairon wore a brand-name suit, dark grey and finely tailored. Said suit was beginning to feel a little tight and stuffy, no doubt caused by Melkor’s wandering hands…

Mairon tried his best to be aloof and gaze out the window, cool as a frozen cucumber. Melkor only palmed his crotch and coaxed out the growing bulge until it strained against the buttons of Mairon’s pants.

“Nh…” Mairon bit his bottom lip. The little furrow between his brows made Melkor smile, and whispers of how cute he was floated into his ears. There was another thing. Melkor’s praise, and now Mairon was trying to squeeze his legs together, embarrassed. Melkor came upon him in a huge onslaught of affection from the side, one hand along the top of the seats while the other worked between clenched thighs.

“Boss, please… We shouldn’t…” Not even Mairon’s best ‘work’ voice could deter Melkor, who rather enjoyed seeing his lover grow flustered.

“Nobody’ll see shit. We’re fine… You’re okay. Beautiful.” The sound of Melkor’s deep, rumbling voice offered more than just reassurance for Mairon, who tilted his head back against the seat and felt a gentle hand pet his hair. Melkor massaged in a circular motion just the way he knew Mairon liked it, and saw those tightly shut eyes relax.

“Ohh…” Mairon’s lips parted and he leaned into Melkor’s touch, loosening his legs a bit. He did not want to truly resist, no. All that his lover had to give, he would gladly take. Melkor could be… oddly convincing when he combined his various strategies. His seductive talents had Mairon aching but did not tease, opening buttons and stroking hot, smooth flesh wherever he could.

“God, you look good in that suit.” Melkor pressed a wet kiss beneath Mairon’s pointed ear, melting into a groan as he straddled his lover’s knee and rubbed against it. _‘I can’t wait to take it off.’_

“I know…” Mairon cracked open an eye to see Melkor’s face contorted with pleasure, brows quirked up and eyes rolled back. It really was too easy to arouse him but Mairon didn’t care. It made him feel less insecure about his own abilities and flattened moments of doubt into tiny flickers. Melkor’s legs were _massive_ and consumed all the space in Mairon’s lap, despite only being there to facilitate a bit of grinding.

“Oh, you big lump, get off me. We don’t have enough space to…” Mairon’s words died in his throat the moment Melkor began to rock against him, doing all the work with one unusually skilled knee. Hardness met bone and Mairon squeaked at the unexpected force. Melkor meanwhile was going at it with unbridled energy, rolling his hips in and out as if he intended to grind away the fabric of his pants. In that little corner he paused for just a moment, breathless and sweating a little. “Unzip me, love. We’re doing this.”

“We are…” Mairon’s deft hands freed Melkor’s straining cock, a truly monstrous thing to gaze upon. Many times he recalled it had reamed him in the ass until he could not walk, and today was not a day to chance that. Flexible and fluid he slipped around until he crouched beneath the table, kneeling there with legs spread. “Allow me.”

 

~

 

When the two men reached their destination, they wore satisfied smiles on their faces. Melkor had his hands in both pockets, walking beside Mairon to the hotel they’d reserved over the phone. They needed a place to sleep tonight after their meeting was over, and hopefully it would be back to the Bay in the morning. All these people around kept Mairon alert for anyone suspicious. He’d become used to the desolate life of a fugitive gang member over the past few months. Seeing all these pedestrians had him wondering which were undercover cops and which recognized Melkor from the newspapers. Melkor had been in jail before, caught for leading terror attacks in a drug-fueled rampage. His cruel eyes and strong features were familiar to media addicts, to say the least.

A quick look at his watch told him it was 6:50 pm, almost time for them to enter the restaurant. Across the road they went, and into the Silver Spoon. At the door they were greeted by a man of typical short Shire height, who stood on several boxes behind a counter. Through the window he smiled, looking them up and down.

“Table for two?”

“We’re here to see, uh, Fancyman.” Melkor cut to the chase and watched the man’s expression change.

“At once.” The man, who was one young Frodo Baggins working without pay in his father’s restaurant stepped down from the boxes and lead Melkor inside. Mairon followed along, down the hallway and through some secret passages. The dining area was to the left, and all the administrative work was done on the floor upstairs. Thankfully it was well-lit and Mairon had no need to squint. Melkor blinked a few times, coming into a small room with a round table in the center and a few paintings hanging on the walls. Inside sat two men, of clear Eldarin descent with fair skin and luscious long hair. One was unnaturally tall and the other had an overwhelmingly negative air around him. The tall one gestured to Melkor first. “Sit.”

Melkor did, keeping an eye on everything as best he could. Mairon appeared cool and collected, and there was no immediate threat he felt the need to address. Still, he was prepared to shoot if things turned sour.

“Good to see you’re both on time. You’re smart not to keep us waiting.” Fancyman straightened up to his full height but remained seated. “Thought about the deal?”

“100k to case a joint sounds good, as a start.” said Mairon, drawing attention to himself. “We wonder what this particular place _is_ , and how risky it might be.”

“It’s a little prep work for us, nothing major, just a look inside the vaults at Formenos.”

Melkor’s eyes popped out, his surprise clear. “Formenos? That place has the highest security in the _world_. Let me guess, you’re planning to rob it?”

“Hm.” Fancyman narrowed his eyes. “We might, if you come back with good reports. We don’t know yet if it’s _possible_ to get in and out undetected, let alone crack open a few safes. If you case it with photographic evidence and come away unscathed, you’ll get your 100k and an opportunity to join the heist.”

“Wait, wait.” Mairon put out both hands, confused. “You barely know us, and you’d ask us to jack the vaults at Formenos?!”

“For 100 million, would you do it?” The low voice from beside Fancyman came with a raised eyebrow and dark smirk. Caranthir ‘Frugal’ Finwion had an itch to talk money, as it was the only reason he was here.

Mairon blew an impressed rush of air through pursed lips, eyes flicking to Melkor. “What do you think, Boss?”

“If we get caught…”

“You won’t.” Fancyman assured him. “You’ll be dead before you get booked – security by the vault is rumored to be machine-reinforced. Meaning, automated guns. Fuck up and you’re toast.”

“Nice to know.” Melkor nodded. His dark, reddish gaze brightened with intrigue. “How are we going to case it without a reason to go in? I mean, they don’t normally let random people go into the vaults, right?”

“You’re going to set up an account with them using the usual workarounds, and you’ll take this. Clink, show him.” Fancyman nudged his brother who hated his own nickname and saw a small pen appear. “Pencam. 100 pictures, remotely activated by a switch in your pocket.” The switch was laid on the table, a small black and red thing. “You go in, use whatever credentials you can make up, get your fake passport or whatever and deposit something in the vault. If you want, we’ve got some fake cubic zirconia that look legit enough. In, out, pictures, done. 100k.”

“Deal.” said Melkor, and reached to shake hands. Fancyman obliged, then glanced at Mairon.

“Only one of you will have to do this. Two at once is suss.” He turned to Melkor. “Morgoth, the mere sight of you will be enough to set off the security alarms. You better let your little friend do it.”

“Eeh?” While Mairon was known for his excellence in hacking, handcrafts and disguise Melkor still felt a little iffy about letting him take a mission on his own. Especially one that involved the Finwions. “You sure? I mean, I could dress real nice…”

Fancyman’s barking laugh was joined by his brother, who chuckled like an evil mastermind. “Heheh, you’re a funny one, you are. Let the blondie case it and you’ll probably get 50k. If you’re lucky.”

“You can have whatever you want, Boss.” Mairon spoke to Melkor with absolute surety, looking him in the eyes. “My assets are yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They call him 'Fancyman' because he is often well dressed and has expensive taste. Ref for Maedhros's face: http://vaethryn.tumblr.com/image/131891354385   
> Refs for Melkor and Mairon's suits: http://vaethryn.tumblr.com/image/131300256850


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down

Past the Shire and into the town of Bree went Maedhros ‘Fancyman’ and his brother, Caranthir.  They were driven in a sleek black limousine befitting their status of High And Mighty Finwions. Exhausted, Caranthir stuffed his face into the side of his brother’s arm. Maedhros had enough muscle there to make it comfortable.

“You think we can trust them?” he mumbled, allowing one arm to drop into Maedhros’s lap.

“Yeah. They know who we are, and Morgoth looks like the kinda guy who’ll do anything for money.”

“I worry about Annatar, though. The guy’s… smart.”

“So are you, but you don’t see me complaining.” Maedhros stroked his brother’s dark hair, smiling as he looked out through the tinted window. Streets flew past in the dim evening light, cars, people and buildings. “I’m a good judge of character, according to Atar. Don’t you worry about a thing. They’re honorable folk.”

“If you say so…” Caranthir yawned and snuggled a little closer, able to do so in the privacy of their shared back seat. Before his other brothers he could do little more than sulk on his own, for it was deemed inappropriate for him to show any form of affection. He didn’t know why – it was just the way things were.

The car pulled up at 9:37 pm outside an old three-storey building, one that was boarded up and seemed abandoned. No sound came from inside, and blackout curtains prevented light from escaping the blocked windows. A footman rushed from the nearby alleyway to open the car door, bowing as Maedhros walked out with Caranthir. Caranthir looked half drunk, swaying on his feet from tiredness but nobody could say a thing, not when he had the power to shoot them dead. Through the alley and left into the building the two brothers walked. On the ground floor (which was in fact a bar, used by many Finwion soldiers and associates) a familiar servant welcomed them in.

“The Boss is waiting for you. He wants to have words.”

“Right. Oh, get me a glass of whiskey would you? Talking with him is never pleasant.” Maedhros went upstairs, dragging Caranthir along. Soon enough he reached the living quarters of his family, where Fëanor and his remaining five sons sat around. Fëanor stood, arms open.

“Nelyo! There you are, and with what looks like a corpse hanging from your shoulder. Come here.”

Maedhros dumped Caranthir on a nearby couch and drifted to his father, accepting his hug. Fëanor sniffed him, squeezed around to check for injuries then let him go, falling back to relax. “About the heist…”

“Please, Atar. We don’t even know if it’s doable yet. Just now I got Annatar to agree to it, and he’s casing the joint the minute he can.”

“For 100k!” Caranthir raised a finger, then went back to snoring.

“I know, I know.” A little tetchiness invaded Fëanor’s even tone. His closest son Curufin realized this and hugged him around the waist, quietly calming him with his presence. Fëanor pet Curufin’s beautiful dark brown hair (the same shade as his own!) and eyed Maedhros. “I’ve received final correspondence from the others. Your dandy cousin Fingon is in for the heavy lifting, Finrod’s lent his ‘intelligence’ over and Curvo here is eager to pick some locks. The squad is confirmed.”

“Well, I’ve also got a potential pack mule in Morgoth, the West’s stupidest crimelord. His man Annatar would do well to replace Curvo by the way, got a much better skillset and…”

Fëanor gave Maedhros a dangerous look, his silver-red eyes gleaming bright. Curufin had the exact same look on his face and cuddled his father tighter, baring his teeth.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Didn’t we have to spread this out? I’m going, Finrod’s going, Fingon too, and the two strangers I got my hands on are some of the best in the business. You wouldn’t want to go against your father’s wishes, would you?” Maedhros reminded Fëanor of the only purpose he ever listened to –  Finwë’s will. Finwë’s sons all hated each other and never worked together unless forced. He wanted to see them execute a high-stakes heist, and bring home enough money to divide up between them. Having his own children so divided and constantly at war hurt him deep inside. Fëanor organized the heist as best he could, just to see his father smile. It was that which he lived for, as he loved Finwë dearly. More so than anyone else in the world.

“…It depends how much you’re going to take. I would trust my Curvo over that sneaky Annatar any time, but I don’t care if Fingon breaks his back over the haul. You can bring your mule if you want. But at least consider Tyelpe…” Fëanor’s words caused Curufin to groan, and Maedhros facepalmed.

“Atar! The kid’s fucking useless. Just leave him home and let me go, I can do everything from cop-watching to key-stamping…”

“He’s your _son_ , and needs a good induction before he can make himself useful. Why not let him do some easy work in the heist? It’ll do wonders for his confidence.” Fëanor lifted up Curufin and sat him in his lap, despite his son being thirty-eight years old and the same height as him. “You really should not be so hard on him.”

Curufin quite enjoyed this position and said nothing, looking down. Maedhros turned to the door as a servant walked in, bringing him his whiskey just a little bit late. He downed it in one gulp then shoved the glass back at the man, who ran for his life once dismissed. Fëanor raised an eyebrow.

“Nelyo…”

Maedhros was in no mood for further conversation and tried to escape to his room. His younger brother Celegorm tripped him over, causing him to smack his face into the wall. On the couch, Amrod and Amras giggled from their rather intimate position amongst the cushions.

Fëanor wondered how his family had survived for so long, remaining in one piece.

 

~

 

Mairon was in no position to order his Boss around but sent Melkor back home on the day of his assignment. In the rich, glowing city of Celondim, he walked alone in the famous Diamond District. In his breast pocket was the pen camera and within his sleeve, the trigger. His fine grey suit went unsullied as did his appearance – Melkor always messed up his perfect outlook and now there was little chance of that. Someone had to eat the food that would expire in the shipping containers before it went off, after all. Melkor believed it well enough.

Mairon began his reconnaissance at the police surveillance booth on a side street, leading into the center of the district. Behind the booth's bulletproof glass, two officers monitored the area. The three main blocks of the district bristled with video cameras: Every inch of street and sky appeared to be under watch. The booth also housed the controls for the road’s retractable steel cylinders that could be deployed to prevent vehicular access to the district. As Mairon walked past, he began taking pictures. Nobody batted an eye at him when he had his hair tied in a bun and ear tips covered. He did not look corrupt or suspicious in the slightest – merely beautiful, and that was all he needed.

He headed towards Formenos itself, a fourteen-storey fortresslike building on the south end of the district. It was grey and terribly imposing, with every single window bulletproof and tinted. It even had a private security force that operated a nerve center located at the entrance. Access was blocked by metal turnstiles, and visitors were questioned by guards. Mairon watched and considered what he was going to say. He’d rehearsed it all in his head of course, but approaching such intimidating figures of authority honestly frightened him a bit. They reminded him of Melkor, dressed in all black and forever scowling. But he was not meant to feel fear. He told himself that every day.

Approaching the turnstiles, he gazed at a particularly handsome guard.

“Pardon me, Sir.” he said in his best Quenya, the accent hinting at higher education and respect. “I’d like to open a deposit box.” In his pocket was a small black bag of fake cubic zirconias, the exact same kind that could pass for diamonds. The guard looked at him, thought for a few moments then stepped aside. The turnstile opened when he pressed a button on his keychain.

“Right through here. Go the reception and ask. I’m just here to keep watch.”

“Thank you.” Mairon batted his long, dark lashes and sauntered in, his movements smooth and camera taking crisp photos. What followed was a relatively painless process of setting up an account, giving his fake ID and being lead into an elevator. He’d never been caught for any sort of criminal activity (he was just _that_ good) and thus did not appear suspicious to the woman who accompanied him. They made small talk, descending two floors underground to a small, claustrophobic room—the vault antechamber. A 3-ton steel door dominated the far wall, with six layers of security just for it. There was a combination wheel with numbers from 0 to 99. To enter, four numbers had to be dialed, and the digits could be seen only through a small lens on the top of the wheel. There were 100 million possible combinations. Mairon took one look at it and knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

The door was monitored by a pair of abutting metal plates, one on the door itself and one on the wall just to the right. When armed, the plates formed a magnetic field. If the door was opened, the field would break, triggering an alarm. To disarm the field, a code had to be typed into the nearby keypad. Finally, the lock required an almost-impossible-to-duplicate foot-long key. Just peeping in, Mairon could see how deep the keyhole went.

The woman pressed a buzzer on the steel door. A guard upstairs glanced at the video-feed, recognized her, and remotely unlocked it. They stepped inside the vault.

It was silent - Mairon found himself surrounded by thick concrete walls. The place was outfitted with motion, heat, and light detectors. A security camera transmitted his movements to the guard station, and the feed was recorded on videotape. That was what he assumed, anyway. The safe-deposit boxes themselves were made of steel and copper and required a key and combination to open. Each box had 17,576 possible combinations. Looking at the numbers, it was easily to calculate it.

“The boxes around here are free, if you’d like to choose one, Sir.” The woman smiled at Mairon, gesturing at the boxes. Mairon chose the one furthest away from her, to the left and close by a heat sensor. It was a little white plastic thing, no bigger than half a toilet paper roll. It was opened for him, and he put his bag of zirconias in there before choosing a pin number – 6666. Eyes were graciously averted but it was clear he’d repeated one digit, four times. The fifty pictures he took as he turned his body this way and that also went unnoticed.

Mairon went through the motions of opening and closing his box just to practice and then walked out, lead once more into the elevator. The vault was one of the hardest targets he'd ever seen.

 

 

~

**The Door**

  1. _Combination dial (0-99)_
  2. _Keyed lock_
  3. _Seismic sensor (built-in)_
  4. _Locked steel grate (not mentioned as it moves away when the door opens)_
  5. _Magnetic sensor_
  6. _External security camera_



**The Vault**

  1. _Keypad for disarming sensors_
  2. _Light sensor_
  3. _Internal security camera_
  4. _Heat/motion sensor_



~

 

The sun had begun to go down when Mairon made his way to Gelion Station, the closest way he could go home without passing the busiest parts of Celondim. He’d had enough of people today, and only wanted his Boss’s arms to sleep in. He was a few steps away from reaching Platform 1 when shrieking sirens rounded the corner, nearly giving him a heart attack. He ducked behind a trash can and a few innocent people stared, unafraid of the speeding police. Three cop cars went right past, chasing nothing but in a clear hurry. Mairon bolted straight for the train the second it arrived.

_‘Shit. Why am I shaking? I haven’t done anything wrong. They didn’t see my camera… right?’_ For hours, he descended into becoming a paranoid wreck until he started running along familiar streets. Ocean winds whipped his hair about and the Bay of Helcar seemed to loom at him with many angry, judgemental shadows. He’d done something wrong, his escape hadn’t been clean, _something was not right…_

The second he entered the dark, well-hidden shipping container he found the barrel of a gun in his face. Something clicked. A light appeared. Then, it moved to sit in a candle atop a metal tray. Melkor’s face was illuminated, along with his favourite rifle. Slowly he lowered it to his side.

“Mairon. Good to see you’re back.”

This was not the welcome Mairon had been expecting, and he grew angry before afraid, tension spilling from his body in a loud huff.

“What the fuck are you poining that thing at me for?! You thought I was a cop? You were followed? You were, weren’t you?!”

Melkor cast his gun aside and stepped back, nearly tripping over a crate. He stepped over it, retreating into bed. “Uh. Um. No, I wasn’t. Your recon went well, then?”

“That’s not the point!” Mairon nearly tore his hair out with frustration. “Cops came by when I was leaving Celondim. I made sure not to fuck up. Did you do something?”

“I went straight home just like you asked, _my precious_.” Melkor’s deep voice wavered just a little, a high note clenching his throat. “Lonely and desolate for hours. Your trip better have been worth it.”

Had he been truly upset, Melkor would have either sulked, insulted or engaged in a crushing hug the moment Mairon walked in. Instead, he was being awfully shifty. He also wore pants far too thick for comfort, and they were indeed his special pair of kevlar trousers. Bulletproof.

“Melkor.” On the bed, Mairon threw his suit jacket away and kicked off his shoes. Melkor was easily pinned by will before strength and stared hopelessly into his lover’s eyes.

_‘Shit, I’m in for it now. Jesus, him and his anxiety…’_ He summoned the power to squint, Mairon’s gaze burning him to the point of actual discomfort. Fierce and fiery. Just how he liked it, when he wasn’t about to be torn to shreds. He sighed.

“Agh, you _know_ how I get when you leave me alone.”

“You are an _adult_ Melkor and the leader of a crime syndicate! You cannot allow yourself to do irrational things when one of your underlings has a mission-”

“You’re NOT just an underling, damn it!” Melkor rose suddenly and headbutted Mairon right in the chest, sending the smaller man backwards. Mairon expected a heavy body upon him but received none. Melkor was backed up against the wall (as their bed didn’t have a head) with a guarded, hostile look in his eyes. “I’ve loved you for more than fifteen years and would trust you with my _life_ , Mairon. Why the hell do you think of yourself like you’re a bullshit associate from HQ? Do I not make **this** clear enough?”

Mairon bit his lip. “That’s… not what this is about.” After shaking Melkor’s words out of his ears, he climbed back onto him whilst ignoring the pain in his own chest. “You did something, and you weren’t careful enough. What. Did you. DO?” His face pushed against Melkor’s, and their noses touched. Melkor’s face gave off heat from his apparent adrenaline rush, and Mairon hoped the situation would diffuse without too much resistance on Melkor’s behalf. He knew the man could be stubborn.

“I felt like shit, alright? So I went and uh…”

Mairon lowered his eyebrows, not liking where this was going. He nipped Melkor’s upper lip to incite him to speak further.

“…yeah. I robbed Victoria’s Secret blind and broke into a couple of bag places. That’s all! Honest!” Melkor put his hands up in defense moments before Mairon growled, dangerously low.

“Did you wear gloves?”

Melkor averted his eyes.

“Melkor…”

Now he winced. “No… it was a spur-of-the-moment kinda thing. Got a nice haul though, about 50k-”

“You did WHAT?!” Screaming into his lover’s face, Mairon’s tight nerves snapped. “THERE ARE CAMERAS RUNNING INSIDE AND OUT ALL OVER THE PLACE! LAMMOTH STREET, RIGHT? WHERE WE WENT LAST YEAR?! HOW COULD YOU? THEY’LL PRINT THE PLACE TOP TO BOTTOM AND FIND YOUR FUCKING HANDS ALL OVER AND COME FOR US, AND WE’LL HAVE TO RUN AND HIDE LIKE COMMON CROOKS-”

**_“STOP FUCKING YELLING AT ME!!”_** Melkor shoved Mairon as hard as he dared by the shoulders, and Mairon fell to the floor, legs tangled in dark bedsheets. Struggling to regain balance Mairon squirmed until Melkor got out of bed and held him up by the neck. He recognized it as the default behaviour Melkor took when he got aggressive, and in moments Melkor did too, quickly slipping his other hand beneath Mairon’s ass. Just to support him, and prevent a broken neck. Melkor clutched his lover, squeezing him painfully tight. **_“Just stop. Please._** ”

Close to an aneurysm and a few burst blood vessels, Mairon started shaking. “You… you’re a fucking idiot… and that hurt. Put me DOWN.”

So Melkor did, regretting every single one of his life’s decisions. “Mai-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Damn you, _Boss_. If the cops come after your stupid ass I’m either gonna book it or fight alongside you. You just gotta…” Mairon shook his head, golden blonde hair an absolute mess. Strands tickled his face and raised his frustration beyond reasonable levels. “You can’t keep doing this! I have shit to do for _both_ of us sometimes, and you _can’t_ always be by my side. It’s not how this works, and if you’re gonna shoplift or take risks like these, you _can’t get caught._ ”

“I know.” said Melkor, looking at the floor. He sat, so he did not tower over Mairon as much. “I can’t… I can’t help it, I…” His broad shoulders sank as did his entire posture, and Mairon took note as he moved away.

“Whatever. It’s done. We both know you’re a dumbass and we’ll lay low for a few extra months.” Mairon so hated to argue with his Boss, especially to an extent such as this. He was eager to blow it off and did so, glancing around. The flickering candle was about to die. They needed to steal more, and it sickened him to think that _he_ would have to go to Bath and Bodyworks to restock their light sources. The people there knew him. But they were no match for a good latex mask.

Mairon saw Melkor feeling far too sorry for himself and slouched down next to him, looping an arm around his thick waist. “Now, show me what you got.”

Melkor brightened immediately, memories of his haul flushing self-pity to the back of his mind. Stealing for him was like taking a hundred tablets of ecstasy, and getting away with it even more so. He grinned as he pulled out a huge leather handbag with a gold buckle on it, several more coming out as they were attached to the strap. Inside the bag he revealed heaps and heaps of women’s underwear, and it was clear to Mairon that he’d ganked literally _everything_ from Victoria’s Secret. Black lacy lingerie! Fine red panties! Bras too big for even Melkor to use! Everything that was there, Mairon knew they were going to boost for cash on the secondhand market. More money was always good, for a fugitive gang even more so. Crime slang and hard feelings aside, Mairon picked up some purple underwear with the words “BE MINE” stamped on the back in white.

“I suppose some new stuff isn’t so bad.”

Thus, Melkor gained Mairon’s forgiveness as he always did – by groveling just a tad and offering pretty things.

 

Five months passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in ages:  
> Fëanor: 68  
> Finwë: 87  
> Maedhros: 48  
> Maglor: 44  
> Celegorm: 42  
> Caranthir: 40  
> Curufin: 38 (Celebrimbor is 18)  
> Ambarussar: 30


	4. Chapter 4

Mairon had long since sent the camera with its photos and a note attached to the Finwions, noting that the vault was impossible to rob. After months of waiting in silence, one day he received a call. Winter had passed and the weather was warming up, so he was dressed in little more than a matching set of black lingerie – brand new just like the other thousands of outfits neatly packed away. He picked up his phone and pressed it to a slightly pointed ear. “Mhm?”

“ **Fancyman here. Want to meet on the 25 th, outside Celondim. Interested?”**

Mairon knew it wasn’t about money, since the $100,000 had already been laundered through the Mafia’s networks and into the hands of Melkor’s financial crew.

“What’s this about?”

Fancyman laughed through the phone, and a few other voices could be heard snickering. **“The heist, the same one you thought impossible. Bring your Boss, won’t you? I want to introduce you to some people.”**

 

~Seven days later~

 

Wary was the approach of Melkor and Mairon to the address Fancyman had provided. Melkor wore his fine trenchcoat and black suit, Mairon in dark grey. Rusty construction equipment littered their surroundings, broken scaffolding and other remnants of failed architectural endeavours swinging in the wind. Here up north in Forochel it was cold, neutral territory a little close to the melting icy sea. It had taken days to get here, and both men were glad to have brought warm clothing. Summer couldn’t come quick enough. Mairon _hated_ the cold.

Standing before the abandoned warehouse was Fancyman, his long red hair tied in a neat ponytail. He beckoned, and Melkor approached with Mairon near.

“Your information has been valuable.” said Fancyman to Mairon, pushing open the warehouse doors. Mairon gave a small sound of agreement as they walked in. Inside, a massive structure was covered with black plastic tarps. Fancyman pulled back a corner and they ducked underneath.

At first, Mairon was confused. He seemed to be standing in the vault antechamber. To his left, he saw the vault door. He was inside an exact replica of the Diamond Center's vault level. Everything was the same. As far as he could tell, Fancyman had reconstructed it based on the photographs he had provided. Mairon felt like he had stepped into a movie.

Inside the fake vault, three men were having a quiet conversation. They stopped talking when they saw Fancyman, Melkor and Mairon. Everyone was introduced by nicknames.

Goldie specialized in alarm systems. According to Fancyman, he could disable any kind of alarm. He sat with his bright curly hair spilling over strong shoulders, built like the guy seated to his right.

"You can disable this?" Melkor asked, pointing at the replica vault.

 

"I can disable most of it," Goldie said with a smile. "You're going to have to do one or two things yourself, though."

The tall, muscular man was Wiseguy. He was an expert electrician, mechanic, and driver and had enormous physical strength. He paled in comparison however to Melkor, who eyed his voluptuous chest.

_‘Those pecs. He’s wearing that shirt to show them off. Mine are better, though. Hm.’_

The Craftsman was a serious looking replica of Fëanor himself. Fancyman said that the practised locksmith was among the best key forgers in the world. One of his contributions would be to duplicate the nearly impossible-to-duplicate foot-long vault key.

"Just get me a clear video of it," the man told Melkor. "I'll do the rest."

"That's not so easy," Mairon pointed out, critical of the way the Craftsman spoke to his Boss.

The Craftsman shrugged. That wasn't his problem.

"Don't worry," said Goldie. "I'll help."

“So this is it, then?” Melkor turned to Fancyman, well-informed about the Vault since Mairon’s earlier lecture. “In and out, undetected?”

“That’s the plan.” Fancyman leaned on the table, a little close to Wiseguy. “We need the key first, a bit of practice, and the next time the Diamond Center gets their monthly shipment delivered, we’re going in.”

“All of us?”

The Craftsman gave Melkor a piercing glare. “No. I won’t be going because _someone_ thinks your man Annatar is better for the job. I’m just here to cut keys.” The amount of bitterness and seething rage within him caused Goldie to shift away. Melkor was used to it from his life of crime and shrugged.

“He _is_ pretty good.”

Mairon turned away, rolling his eyes and trying to keep himself from blushing at the praise. Fancyman wrung his hands together.

“There is… someone else.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The Craftsman stood then, and Melkor tensed. “SILVER! GET IN HERE!”

The vault door opened, easily swinging on its steel hinges as it wasn’t locked. On the other side was a room full of technical equipment (the vault was still being built) and from there, a man approached. He looked like more of a boy, lanky and with nervousness written all over him. Fancyman made an introduction.

“This is Silver. He’ll be playing lookout.”

“It’s not _playing_. Lookout is one of the most important jobs, you know-”

“Yes yes, I know, because I told you that. Sit down. These two are Morgoth and Annatar, members of the Angband Syndicate.”

“The leaders, actually.” Melkor held up one finger. Fancyman smiled apologetically.

“Of course.”

Silver was supposed to say something but words left him the moment he laid eyes upon ‘Annatar’ -  Mairon. The svelte figure with glorious hair and a stern amber gaze was the most beautiful person Silver had ever seen, and in all the eighteen years of his life spent on the internet, he’d seen _a lot_. Plainly gawking, his behaviour was noticed by the Craftsman, who just happened to be his father.

“Stop staring, boy. These people are out of your league.”

Melkor raised an eyebrow then put two and two together, glancing at both of them. “Uh. He looks pretty green. Are you sure he’s ready for this?”

“It ain’t my choice.” said the Craftsman, glaring at his son as if he intended to make his head explode. “We’re all here for someone’s _better_ decisions.”

“Your boss, right?” Melkor knew enough about Fëanor to realize his sons were here, but had no clue which ones. The Finwion family was _massive_ , and very secret in their dealings.

Fancyman nodded. “Yes. Our boss. Now, we must designate our tasks. There’ll be heavy lifting for Morgoth and Wiseguy to do when we get the haul out, and I will assist Goldie with the security systems. Silver and Annatar… we will trust with the duties of lookout and getaway.” Silver at present was _still_ looking at Annatar, though his eyes flicked about to make sure nobody noticed. He wasn’t very discreet at all. The Craftsman wanted to hang himself for being replaced in The Biggest Heist Ever by his own son. Silver didn’t even have the traditional pointed ears of a corrupted henchman. His malice and morality came into doubt.

“Well, we’re in.” Melkor didn’t realise how easily he’d been coerced into joining the heist, until Mairon elbowed him. “Ah. Payment. How much is the expected take, and what are we gonna split?”

“Even split. The take’s a hundred million in currency from all around the world. If we get in on the shipment from Belgium, then we’re looking at two hundred.” Fancyman knew nothing more and would leave the money business to his brother The Collector. Silver wasn’t getting any money, as it all went to his father until he was independent enough to use it. The Craftsman had no intention of letting his son see a _cent_.

 

The rest of the day was spent discussing strategies on how to get a photo of the key, and it was agreed that Mairon would be the one to plant a camera near the vault.

“Be careful.” said Fancyman, narrowing his green eyes at Mairon. “It all rests on you now.”

 

~

 

Once Melkor and Mairon had left, it was 7pm and everyone had missed dinner. Fancyman Maedhros said his goodbyes to Wiseguy Fingon and Goldie Finrod, then took Curufin the Craftsman along with Silver Celebrimbor outside. Once all in their disguise vehicle (a beat-up van with tinted windows) Maedhros chose to drive. In the back, Celebrimbor and Curufin immediately started arguing.

“What the hell were you trying to pull back there? You stared at that pretty-boy for _hours_!”

Celebrimbor tried to defend himself, and he nearly got whiplash as his un-seatbelted body smacked into the door. “Fuck! Atar, did you see him? He’s so hot! I got this feeling, like… that same one you probably get when you look at Daeratar.”

Curufin backhanded his son with all his strength, nearly knocking out a few teeth. A sharp jerk of the van around a corner was all that saved Celebrimbor from unconsciousness.

“You talk shit like that again and I’ll slit your fucking throat, you little bastard. I won’t have you being a horny fuckboy around the goddamn _lieutenant_ of Morgoth! Do you _know_ who those people are? Do you?!” Curufin’s cold eyes shone red and silver at once, his son’s bright blue glistening with fresh tears. “Morgoth kills people for _sport_ , and his soldiers are absolutely _ruthless_. They’re animals, they are, and they’re on a whole ‘nother level from us. Not better, not worse. They’re dangerous. You get caught up with Annatar, and you’ll see your tiny cock parted from your body before it can rise.”

“Curvo…” Maedhros warned, stopping at a red light. “Be careful. You’re going to traumatise him.”

“Oh shut it, you ginger cunt.” Curufin flipped his middle finger at his brother as if he wasn’t a thirty-eight year old single dad throwing a hissy fit at his own son. Maedhros was used to the insults and rolled his eyes. Curufin only got more angry, in the same manner that Fëanor would prior to an explosion.

Celebrimbor was silent, clutching his reddened cheek and drooling blood. His father noticed, and clicked his tongue.

“You stupid thing. Clean that up, I’m not buying you any new clothes.”

“I fucking hate you.” Celebrimbor whispered, rubbing his face. Curufin’s heart thumped too loudly in his ears for him to hear. His racing pulse wasn’t the only thing irregular tonight. They’d been stopped at this light for too long.

“What’s the bloody holdup?” He snapped, shoving his face over Maedhros’s shoulder to see what was up. Through the windscreen, he could see a faint flicker of red and blue. The lights of a police car.

Maedhros lowered his eyelids.

“We’re taking the long way.”

 

~

 

By the time they got home, they were utterly famished and in awful spirits. Celebrimbor ran to his room sobbing and Maedhros found himself a bottle of strong whiskey. His ears still rung from all the bickering. Curufin meanwhile went straight to find his father, and complained to Fëanor the second he found him. Fëanor lounged on a comfortable red chaise wearing a silk nightrobe, holding a cigar in one hand. Beside him on the table was a half-empty wineglass, the bottle near. He crooned to his son like a pigeon stuck in a gutter.

“Oooh, Curvo. Do come and calm yourself, will you?” Fëanor waved lazily with his free hand, rings glinting in the dim lamplight. “Mm, your face looks like a shit-out sour lemon. So cute.”

“You’re drunk again?!” Curufin nearly yelled at him but toned himself down to exasperation at the last minute. “Ugh, Atya… today was _horrid_.” He cast off his jacket and wore no shoes this far inside the house, though hadn’t had a chance to get out of his day clothes. He draped himself atop his father on the couch, stealing a drag from his cigar. The deep, smoky scent calmed him as Fëanor did, and he found his anger ebbing away. “Tyelpe fucked up today. He wouldn’t stop staring at Annatar.”

“Mmmmmhnn..” Fëanor made some weird noises, inhaling and petting Curufin at once. He closed his eyes, raising his right hand to remove his cigar. It waved in the air as he spoke. “You don’t worry about that, son. It’s over and done with. You’re here now.”

“Eerghh..” Curufin nuzzled into his father’s neck, burying his face amongst locks of clean brown hair. Fëanor had showered recently, and carried the lightest scent of sandalwood. “Still. He’s a bad choice for this heist. You’ll reconsider, right?”  
“No…” Fëanor set his cigar aside, drank a little wine then sat up. He tried to look his son in the eyes but Curufin’s gaze darted about, trying to read him. “Curvo, if you’re so upset about this… ask me tomorrow… I’ll take you somewhere nice. We can go play with the ATMs nearby. Would you like that? Hm?” He stroked beneath Curufin’s chin as if petting a cat, whispering to him with a tired softness. He only wanted to make him happy. Curufin was ever so hard to please.

“If you take me… it’ll be fine.” said Curufin, before he glanced to the side, face flushed. Fëanor kissed him on the forehead then lay back.

“It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> platonic. familial. cuddling.


	5. Chapter 5

A month later, a guard stepped up to the vault door and began to spin the combination wheel. It was 7 am. He was right on schedule.

Directly above his head and invisible behind the glare of a recessed light, a fingertip-sized video camera captured his every move. With each spin, the combination came to rest on a number. A small antenna broadcast the image. Nearby in a storage room beside the vault, a generic red fire extinguisher was strapped to the wall. The extinguisher was fully functional, but a watertight compartment inside housed electronics that picked up and recorded the video signal.

When the guard finished dialing the combination, he inserted the vault's key. The video camera recorded a sharp image of it before it disappeared inside the keyhole.

He spun the handle, and the vault door swung open.

~

Fëanor watched his son going through the meticulous process of forgery. Curufin had a laptop open with the finest control available over the recorded video. As he marked sections with a thin-tipped marker on a piece of metal, he clicked here and there. Slowly, the image of a key began to take shape. Fëanor, dressed in an open white shirt with black pants, observed silently. It was then that Celegorm walked in.  
Celegorm ‘Frisky’ Finwion made a beeline straight for Fëanor, waving around his dark briefcase. “Atar! Money’s in. Where’s Moryo?”

“Not here. Gone on some racket or another, won’t be back for days. Give it here, I’ll handle it.” Fëanor snatched up the briefcase before Celegorm could refuse, and opened it on the table beside Curufin.

“Wait, don’t…!” It was no use. Celegorm backed away as Fëanor and Curufin peeped into the case. Inside were solid gold dildos wrapped in hundred-dollar bills, along with many other expensive toys. Fëanor raised an eyebrow.

“You call this _money_? Half of it looks like shit you can’t even fence.” Celegorm was the chief pimp in Arda and sometimes borrowed things from his workers. Fëanor had expected actual earnings, not this. “You would give _these_ to Moryo?”

Celegorm averted his shifty blue eyes, tossing his long blonde hair over one shoulder. “Uh. He knows what they’re worth, and I’ve got clients asking…”

“I bet you two were going to fuck.” said Curufin, shaking his head. “Don’t. You’ll give him AIDS.”

“For your information I am _CLEAN_ , more so than you could ever hope to be.” No comebacks were good enough to balm Celegorm’s offended heart, and he swept the briefcase away, giving Fëanor a dirty look. Fëanor rolled his eyes.

“They aren’t, are they?” he asked Curufin, leaning to whisper. Curufin blinked.

“Who knows?”

~

The day wore on, sweltering and quiet. Melkor lay nude beside Mairon in their large bed, snoozing with an arm thrown over him. In a crate nearby were many packets of various foods Mairon had stolen. Mairon did it to keep his lover quiet as the Heist Day approached. So far, Melkor had eaten something like sixty chocolate macarons. He wasn’t going to bother Mairon for a while.

Mairon’s finely manicured, black pointed nails tapped the screen of his phone. He was texting Fancyman, trying to negotiate a little break for himself.

_#Come on. I’ve done enough shit, can’t **you** spray the sensor?_

**# cbf lol**

_# What, you think I can??_

**# Ur the 1 w/ access 2 the vault. Still got time. Just do it.**

_# Get in there and wear a wig. I’m tired ffs_

**_#_ ** **Dont be a lazy ass, u don’t even have to risk shit, n wat if they see my face? I’m fucked. So do it.**

_# I got a lot of stuff to do for my Boss. Bye._

He set down his phone and turned it off, knowing in this line of work just what a bad idea that was. Taking a long trip back to Celondim was inevitable, but entering the vault just a day before it was robbed? Surely that couldn’t end well if he was caught on camera. They couldn’t possibly disable them all… but still, Mairon would be a part of the heist even though he didn’t entirely trust his teammates. While the Finwions were in their temporary residence near Forochel, Mairon got to relax in peace with his boss. He turned aside, Melkor’s thick, heavy arm slowing the movement. Dark lashes and furrowed brows on that serious face marked sleep, or at least a light state of rest without any conscious thought. Mairon pressed his lips to the tip of Melkor’s nose and admired him quietly.

_‘I’ll make sure we escape.’_

~~

A few days passed. Fëanor had just gotten dressed and was ready to leave when he went to notify his father. Finwë went everywhere with his eldest son, being mostly incapable of looking after himself (and trusting no-one else with the task).  In his late eighties, he was rather easygoing and traveled as was necessary.

Fëanor knocked on the door and opened it to see Finwë sitting up in bed.

“Atar.” He smiled, and went to offer Finwë his hand. “We’re leaving.”

Finwë took note of Fëanor’s fluffy jacket and sighed. “It’s cold out, is it?”

“Mhm. Don’t worry, I won’t let you freeze. Brought you this.” Fëanor opened his own jacket to reveal another thick one, warmed by his own body. Finwë stood shakily and allowed his son to put it on him.

“Ahh… thank you. Everything’s in order, then?”

“Yes. The heist will go as planned. Morgoth and Annatar move for Celondim tonight, if Nelyo’s reports are to be believed.” Fëanor gently massaged his father’s shoulders, adjusting the collar of the jacket. Finwë had tried to get a little bit of extra sleep in after putting on his clothes an hour ago, and his aged blue suit had some wrinkles in it. Fëanor didn’t mind. The Kingpin of Arda’s biggest mafia family still looked quite dapper.

Finwë took a deep breath, then sighed it out to prepare himself for the long walk. It was only out of the house they’d possessed and to the van, but a little much for him. With Fëanor by his side however, he could handle it. They walked together, Fëanor with a protective arm around his father’s waist. His eyes darted about when they got outside, and he saw Maedhros standing like a tall red beacon in the chill wind.

“I hope you can pull this off.” Finwë said abruptly upon coming close to his grandson. “This is the only chance we will get to obtain… the Silmarils.”

~

Mairon entered the vault on Friday, the day before the robbery. He was alone. In his jacket pocket, he carried a can of hair spray. Despite having procrastinated a bit, this was necessary and not something he could bludge.

A security camera recorded his movements, but the guard had gotten used to the man’s frequent visits and wasn't paying attention. Mairon stepped away from the safe-deposit boxes and pulled out the aerosol can. With a quick, practiced circular movement, he covered the combined heat and motion sensor with a thin coat of transparent, oily mist.

The vault was momentarily filled with the smell of hairspray. It was simple but effective: The oily film would temporarily insulate the sensor from fluctuations in the room's temperature, and the alarm went off only if it sensed both heat and motion.  Goldie had told him that, having researched what kind of sensor it was based on the photos. Still, it was hard to guess how long the trick would work. Once Wiseguy was in the vault, he had to install the sensor bypass before his body heat penetrated the film. He could have five minutes or less. Nobody knew for sure. Only one person could enter the vault to work on the sensors – having everyone in there was hot, stuffy and dangerous. No risks could be taken. None at all.

~

Two days ago, a convoy of police cars had escorted an armored truck through Celondim. The escorts bristled with firepower. They belonged to a special diamond-delivery protection unit, and each cop carried a fully automatic weapon. Their cargo: Antwerp’s monthly shipment of diamonds, worth millions. Every month, Formenos’s share of the boxes was flown in from Belgium and transferred to an armored truck. Once the truck's doors slammed shut, the convoy sped away, sirens wailing. The vehicles rocketed past the guard gate at the entrance of the district, and the giant metal cylinders rose out of the ground behind them, blocking any further automotive access. The armed escorts fanned out on foot around the armored truck to form a perimeter. No one was allowed near the vehicle. The doors swung open, and the boxes were quickly carried through an unremarkable entrance in the middle of the block. It was payday. Tomorrow, trade would commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes there are incest jokes but THEY'RE ONLY JOKES HONESTLY


	6. Chapter 6

On a fine Spring night, the Diamond District was deserted. Mairon drove his rented gray car past the city's central train station and turned onto a road that skirted the district. He pulled to the curb and Melkor, Fancyman, Wiseguy, Goldie and Silver stepped out carrying large duffel bags. Everyone was dressed in black spandex and only moonlight outlined the curves of muscle and motion. Mairon had to remain in the car and observed Melkor’s ass as he sprinted across the street with the others. Wiseguy picked the lock on a shabby office building and they disappeared through the door. It was a little past midnight.

Fancyman led them out the rear of the building into a private garden that backed Formenos. It was one of the few places in the district that wasn't under video surveillance. Using a ladder he had previously hidden there, Goldie climbed up to a small terrace on the second floor. A heat-sensing infrared detector monitored the terrace, but he approached it slowly from behind a large polyester shield. The thing was literally made out of spare packaging material from one of Caranthir’s drug shipments. The low thermal conductivity of the polyester blocked his body heat from reaching the sensor. He placed the shield directly in front of the detector, preventing it from sensing anything. Two fingers were silhouetted against the night sky, signaling that the balcony was safe.

While the rest of the team scrambled up, Goldie disabled an alarm sensor on one of the balcony's windows. One by one the thieves climbed through the window, dropped into a stairwell, and descended to the darkened vault antechamber. Melkor didn’t have the best night vision and opened his eyes wide to see better. Everyone else covered the security cameras with black plastic bags and flipped on the lights. Melkor cringed. The vault door stood imposingly before them. The building was quiet—no alarms had been triggered. The police would never know.

Wiseguy pulled a custom-made slab of rigid aluminum out of his bag and affixed heavy-duty double-sided tape to one side. Watched by Goldie and an unusually attentive Fancyman, he stuck it on the two plates that regulated the magnetic field on the right side of the vault door and unscrewed their bolts. The magnetic plates were now loose, but the sticky aluminum held them together, allowing Goldie to pivot them out of the way and tape them to the antechamber wall. The plates were still side by side and active—the magnetic field never wavered—but they no longer monitored the door.

Suddenly Wiseguy remembered something. In Mairon’s videos, the vault’s guard usually visited a utility room just before opening the vault. When he took a moment to search the room, he found a major security lapse: The original vault key was hanging inside.

_‘These idiots. It’s like they’re just **asking** to be robbed.’_

Wiseguy grabbed the original. There was no point in letting the safe manufacturers know that their precious key could be copied, and the Craftsman’s key remained unused in his bag.

“Would you like the honor?” he murmured to Fancyman, who took the key and slotted it in the keyhole then waited while Goldie dialed in the combination they had gleaned from the video. A moment later, Goldie nodded. Melkor turned off the lights—they didn't want to trigger the light detector in the vault when the door opened. In the darkness, Wiseguy turned the key and spun a four-pronged handle. The bolts that secured the door retracted and it swung open heavily.

Silver ran up the stairwell. It was his job to stay in touch with Mairon, but there was no cell phone reception down in the vault. Upstairs, he got a signal and dialed his temporary crush.

"H..hey. Annatar, you there?”

Mairon answered within the first ring and growled “ **What’s going on? Problems? Report? What?”**

Fidgeting with the tight material of his suit, Silver stuttered “We're in” and hung up. His racing heart calmed after a few long minutes spent simply breathing. He took a moment to look around. The stairwell was dark and musty, creaking every now and then. Was it his imagination, or was there something wrong? Up went his pulse again, and he thought about what his father would do in this situation. As much as he hated Curufin, the man knew how to hold himself in serious situations.

_‘Take it easy. You’ll be in the car with that gorgeous blonde soon and there will be nothing to worry about. Nothing at all…’_

Mairon put his phone back on the dashboard. He was sitting in the car and could see the front of Formenos a block and a half away. His police scanner was quiet. He took a sip of cold coffee and waited.

In the antechamber, Wiseguy deftly picked the lock on the metal grate. He shuffled backward as Melkor propped the grate open with two cans of paint they found in the storeroom. Like the rest of the team, Melkor wore plastic gloves—the police would find no prints on the cans. It was now up to Fancyman to disable the remaining systems.

Fancyman oriented himself in the darkness at the vault entrance. The only sound was the steady breathing of the others behind him. His body was already projecting heat into the vault—the hair spray on the infrared sensor wouldn't last. Every second he was there would raise the ambient temperature. He had to move quickly but keep his heart rate low. As he'd practiced in the warehouse, he strode exactly 11 steps into the middle of the room, reached for the ceiling and pushed back a panel. He felt the security system's main inbound and outbound wires. An automatic electric pulse constantly shot into the room and back out along these wires. If any of the sensors were tripped, the circuit would break. When a pulse shot into the room, it expected an answer. If it didn't get one, it activated the alarm. And if the alarm activated, everyone was screwed.

_‘Fingon would be better at this sort of thing… but I’m the only one who can reach it. Ah, fuck it…’_

With his hands over his head, Fancyman used a tool to strip the plastic coating off the wires. It was a delicate task. One slip could cut through, instantly breaking the circuit and tripping the alarm. He’d studied Wiseguy’s electrical endeavours in such detail that aside from noticing how pretty the man’s hands were, there was a certain caution required in disabling these alarms. Once the copper wires were exposed, he clipped a new, precut piece of wire between the inbound and outbound cables. This bridge rerouted the incoming electric pulse over to the outbound wire before the signal reached the sensors. It no longer mattered what happened further down the line. The sensors were out of the loop and it was now safe for the others to enter.

Still, the men were cautious. They blinded the heat/motion detector with a Styrofoam box, covered the light detector with tape, and then set to work. Wiseguy unloaded a homemade hand-cranked drill and fitted it with a thin shaft of metal. He jammed the shaft into one of the locks and cranked for about three minutes—until the lock broke, snapping open the box. He ran a gloved hand over the contents. Cut diamonds in an open tray. He smiled.

Everyone took turns yanking the contents out. Since they had memorized the layout of the vault in the replica, they worked in the dark, turning on their flashlights only for split seconds—enough to position the drill over the next box. But in those muffled flashes, they could glimpse their duffel bags overflowing with gold bars, millions in international currencies and leather satchels that contained the bulk of their profit: rough and polished diamonds. They resisted the urge to examine their haul; they were running out of time.

Melkor took a turn with the drill when Wiseguy’s hands got tired, and cranked with great speed and strength. The last box he broke open was by the far right wall, and as he handed the drill to Goldie (who was busy with the bags) he caught a glimpse of light. Blocking the box with his massive body, Melkor shoved his hands in. His thick fingers closed around something round and smooth, brushing against another like object. There were three spheres in here, glowing and _hot_.

 _‘What the fuck…?_ ’ He grunted as he pulled off one glove and shoved the spheres down the tight sleeve of his suit. Back on went the glove, and in the darkness he shuffled the spheres to his upper arm, then down his chest and finally to rest in his crotch. They were almost enough to burn him but their enticing glow could not be seen through the opaque black spandex. He did however seem to have a slightly enhanced package. Beside him, Wiseguy and Fancyman could be heard muttering under their breaths.

_“Nelyo, my fucking hands…”_

_“Shh! Keep it cool. We’ll be out soon.”_

_“But the Silmarils, have you found them?”_

_“I don’t know, nobody told me what they looked like! Or felt like, for that matter. They’re supposed to glow, and I ain’t seen shit.”_

Goldie floundered in the dark and his hand came to Fancyman’s ass. Fancyman thought it was Wiseguy, and gasped.

_“We’ve got to keep going. This is it.”_

Melkor had no clue what the Finwions were on about but had a feeling he’d taken something that was supposed to be shared. Having it down his pants brought a wide-eyed and crazily grinning expression to his face. Goldie worked the drill on every other box, and Melkor kicked the trashed ones on the floor out of the way.

By 5:30 am, they had opened 169 boxes. A tamped-down giddiness pervaded the dark vault, but they had to stop. The streets would fill with people soon, and they needed to transfer their bags into Mairon's car. Silver relayed the message to him. They were coming out.

It took almost an hour for the team to haul the bags up the stairs, pass by the infrared sensor, lower the loot down the ladder and gather in the hallway of the decrepit office building. Mairon idled at the curb while on the phone with Silver, who only breathed heavily, waiting. A bus came and went, and then the street was empty.

"Now," he hissed.

In the predawn half-light, the four men raced out of the building. They jammed the bags in the car, slammed the doors, and headed off on foot for Fancyman’s drophouse apartment. Then, Silver came out from the shadows and climbed into the passenger seat. Without sparing him a glance, Mairon put the car in gear and slowly pulled away.

~

In half an hour, they were huddled around the bags in the apartment. Goldie unzipped one and pulled out a leather satchel. It was time to celebrate.

He opened the satchel and looked up, bewildered. It was empty.

He took out another. It was also empty. A wave of anxiety swept the room. They unzipped all the other duffel bags and rifled through the satchels. More often than not, there was nothing in them.

Something had gone wrong. The diamonds and cash should have been there.

"We've been set up," Mairon said.

“What do you mean, set up?! We organized this damn thing, there’s no way…!” Fancyman threw a satchel across the room and it flopped against the wall. “The fuck is this?!”

“Easy, easy…” Wiseguy murmured to him and stood, placing a hand on Fancyman’s shoulder despite shorter than him. Drawn to his full height with blazing red hair a mess, Fancyman did look quite terrifying. A little of his black eyeliner had smudged.

Melkor was still wearing his black spandex suit under the spare clothes he’d brought and changed into. The three spherical things he’d stolen still bulged in his pants. Mairon had just arrived with Silver and was sitting beside his Boss, breathing irregularly in disbelief. Silver was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, how could this happen!” he wailed, pulling at his dark brown hair. “We’ve failed! Now we won’t have any money!”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” screamed Fancyman, a suddenly commanding tone thick in his strained voice. “ _YOU_ stay out of this. We’ve got to figure out what went wrong.”

Goldie began thinking, using his analyctical mind at full capacity to determine every step of their plan. He stopped when he got to the actual breaking of the boxes.

“How did we fill the bags?”

“I just pulled the whole boxes out and dumped them in…” said Wiseguy, still eyeing Fancyman with concern. “Morgoth? What about you?”

“Same thing. Drill, box, upside down into the bags. Got a few satchels too, and put em in. I was going quick, didn’t stop to count.”

“Mm, same.” Wiseguy then turned to Goldie. “You?”

“I’m not experienced with weighting gems and the like. Most of what I got was trays, I think I put an entire one in the bag…” Just as expected, out of a duffel bag came an aluminium tray from one of the deposit boxes. Elsewhere in the bag, some loose diamonds were found. “These… Yeah, I saw these with the flashlight. Where’s the money?”

“Some of it’s in here.” Mairon pushed his hand into an open bag that had quite a bit of assorted currency in it.

“Alright, good, there’s that. We’ll get Clinker to count it.” Fancyman was trying to control himself, but his voice wavered with spikes of impulsive anger. It ran in the family, on Fëanor’s side anyway. Wiseguy and Goldie kept themselves calm despite being in complete and utter shock. This entire thing was supposed to bring a take of one hundred million plus Finwë’s coveted Silmarils, the mysterious gems few eyes had ever seen. Wiseguy remembered.

“The Silmarils…”

“Shit. I need a moment.” Fancyman left the room and went into the nearby bathroom, where he turned on a hot shower and stripped. Everyone else looked at each other, until Melkor spoke.

“Uh… what now?”

“Yeah, what’s the split going to be? We risked our asses for this, you know.” Mairon leaned in to protect his boss with his presence, even though Melkor was intimidating enough on his own.

“I have no idea. We’ve got a guy who’s good with money, the big C, whatever you want to call him. He’ll value it up, and then we’ll have numbers.” Wiseguy curled his long black hair around one finger. “Are you okay to get rid of the evidence on your way home? You live far, right?”

“Eh. I can.”

“Wait, no. We can’t just yet. In a few hours the job will be discovered and moving the evidence will be tough. We’ve got to get out of town.” Goldie had a drophouse of his own outside Celondim and it was too far for anyone to go on foot. “You’ve still got the car. We can all get in and if we’re quick, be out of town before the cops arrive.”

“Fuck… yeah, alright. Get the redhead and we’ll go. Quick.” Melkor understood the need for rushing and stood with Mairon. Everyone scooped what had fallen out of the bags back in, along with the evidence. Receipts for the tools bought, the tools themselves, spools of video tape and bits of wire… there was even a half eaten sandwich in there. It was all mixed up with the money and diamonds.

 _‘I honestly thought there would’ve been more…’_ Mairon surveyed the scene with disappointment weighing his shoulders down. Wiseguy went and knocked on the bathroom door, hurrying Fancyman out once he was dressed.

“What’s the plan?” asked Fancyman, his long red hair dripping on the floor.  
“My place. Call your brother, have him meet us there.” Goldie’s drophouse was known to Caranthir, as were all the other locations the family owned. Fancyman nodded, took out his phone and went downstairs. Within minutes, everyone was squeezed into Mairon’s rented car and being driven to safety. It was a little past 6:30 am.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are some image references I made.  
> Goldie's drophouse : [Click here](http://www.postimg.org/image/k5w37ufm7/)  
> It's just a colour scheme reference. There's morning light filtering through the balcony's glass [sliding doors](http://s28.postimg.org/lw0ii23wt/aaaaaaaaaaaa.png), and I omitted most of the furniture.  
> There will be a two images linked in the following text. The first is a reference. The second is NSFW.

Upon arrival in Mithlond, it was into another apartment and a proper discussion on escape. The place wasn’t big, just a brown and red carpeted living room with a square coffee table towards the balcony. Wiseguy plonked himself down onto a couch and put his head in his hands while Goldie secured the door. Silver was fidgeting anxiously in an armchair too large for his slender figure. He looked an absolute wreck, the most out of anyone else. This was his first job… and it had failed.

Caranthir the Coin-Counter raised an eyebrow as Fancyman dumped the bags on the table.

“Count it.” breathed Fancyman, voice brooking no argument. “All of it.”

So Caranthir did, and sat down entirely focussed on the numbers. Melkor was going to sit and watch, but Mairon touched his arm.

“Boss. A word.”

Melkor nodded and went with him outside to the balcony, shutting the glass sliding doors behind them. The sky was somewhere between a purple-orange sunrise and a bright blue day, dark fading to light here in the city. The air was crisp from the lake nearby, big enough for boats and trade. Melkor stared at the shimmering water a few blocks away before nearly falling over the railing. Mairon tugged at his sleeve.

“Hey. Keep it together. Are you alright?” Mairon’s soft, hushed voice carried urgency and concern as did his roaming hands. He was checking Melkor for injuries but found none – only feeling shivers in response. “Cold?”

“Nah.” Melkor shook his head. “I’m just… shaken, I dunno. This feeling… it’s… weird.”

“Mm?” Mairon knew that after a heist (especially one involving jewelry) Melkor’s arousal spiked to ridiculous heights, as did his confidence and all-round pleasure. There had been little sign of that in the past few hours however, and Melkor had only shown worry on his pale face. At least now that he was in normal clothes, Mairon could take a good look at him. Then he saw something odd.

Melkor’s ears were poking out of his thick, black hair.

“Boss…? Lean down a bit…”

Melkor glanced back through the doors and saw everyone sat around the Counter watching, and Silver looking _right at him_. “Yeah, alright. Just be careful. We’re not alone.”

“Mh….?!” Mairon brushed Melkor’s long locks away and immediately gripped the tip of his left ear. Just like the right, it had grown into an exceedingly long point with a gentle curve at the outer edge. “What the hell is this?!” he hissed, tugging it. “It wasn’t like this yesterday!”

Melkor tried to straighten up but Mairon would not let go, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “Oi, stop… stop it…” His cheeks were growing red, as were the tips of his ears. He just happened to be a _little_ sensitive there. Just a tad. Mairon stepped back, then came right up close to stare at his boss.

“That’s… corruption. _Melk_ , what did you _do?_ ”

It was then that a burning heat pulsed in Melkor’s groin and he remembered the three spheres he’d shoved down his pants. He’d begun to sweat into the spandex and was feeling a little gross, along with all his other unwanted emotions. “Join me in the shower. You’ll see then.”

“Here?!” Aghast, Mairon stepped back enough to touch the side railing. “No, we can’t, they’ll get suspicious…”

“Why not? Do you… do you have _any_ idea what I’m doing now? How serious this shit is? Mairon…” Melkor leaned down and beckoned his lover’s ear close. “…I think I stole the Silmarils.”

Mairon nearly shit himself. His hands flew up to his mouth, then back down into fists by his sides. “You _what_?!”

“Stop whisper-hissing at me and get in the bathroom. You’ve gotta help me, Mai. You just gotta.”

They went back through the doors and into the very silent living room. Fancyman’s eyes were trained on his brother’s counting fingers, also reciting the numbers in his head. Wiseguy lifted his head when the balcony doors slid open and held a finger to his lips, indicating silence.

Melkor jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom, which had a picture of a penis drawn on the door. “ _Do you mind?”_ he mouthed.

Wiseguy shrugged and nodded. “ _Go ahead.”_

Melkor and Mairon slipped away relatively unnoticed into the [bathroom](http://s8.postimg.org/ejtmxg81x/Mafia_Locations1.png), which was so small it made Melkor feel a bit cramped. Once he turned on the shower though, he figured a bit of closeness with Mairon could do him some good. Nice and warm.

Mairon removed Melkor’s clothes and his own shirt, then stared at the body clad in tight black spandex before him. Every single muscle was clearly outlined, the white light from above dancing about Melkor’s form.

“Damn.” he muttered, “You look good.”

“And I’m about to feel that way too. Mai, look.” Melkor peeled off his suit and when he got to his lower body, three shining balls piled up in his crotch. He removed the suit entirely and put it on the cold tiles. Mairon stared. They were some sort of jewels, all perfect copies of each other and bursting with iridescence . Their light almost blinded him. When he reached to pick up one, he found it much hotter than any mineral had any right to be.

“You’ve… been keeping these in your pants all this time?”

“Yeah. Mm, I…” With the shower still running, Melkor leaned in to whisper. “I stole them from a box. No-one saw. They’re mine now.”

“And how are you going to get these back home? You can’t hide them in your clothes, and the bags outside are gonna be checked…”

“That’s where you can help me.” Melkor turned away from Mairon and swept a clean towel from the rack nearby. He stepped into the glass shower and braced himself against the tiled wall, his bare ass swaying back and forth. Mairon noticed there was a little dark redness below, but figured the jewels had bruised Melkor’s own. He could always kiss the pain away later.

“In.” Melkor grunted, chewing the towel. “All of them.”

“A-all of them? Are you sure they’ll fit?” Mairon pulled off his own pants and neatly folded them aside, taking his sweet time.

“Yghhs. Jshh hrry ahp.” Hurrying his lover to stick jewels in his ass wasn’t exactly what [Melkor](http://s9.postimg.org/4bov4tznj/Mafia_Locations.png) had planned for his post-heist celebration, but it was necessary if he wanted to smuggle them back home. Mairon had done things like this to him before, so he had nothing to fear. He trusted his lieutenant, even if Mairon doubted him from fear of causing pain. _‘I can take it. Yeah. Let’s do this.’_

Mairon joined Melkor in the shower and brought one jewel with him, large enough to sit comfortably in the palm of his hand. The other two sat in the sink with the pile of spandex. Gripping the jewel tight, Mairon bent and pressed his face to Melkor’s ass. His other hand took water and a little soap bar marked _ORGANIC_ from a nearby rack. Quick and efficient, he soaped his Boss’s crack inside and out, using his fingers to work him open.

“Agh, gh izhhy…” Melkor growled at Mairon to go a little easy but his words were lost in the thick, fluffy towel. One finger slipped into his tight hole, then another, and Mairon felt resistance despite Melkor being relaxed.

“I’m gonna need my entire hand for this, Melk… spread your legs a bit.”

Melkor obeyed, his broad chest pressed up against the freezing wall. Hot water cascaded down his back, soothing knotted muscles and strained nerves. As Mairon fingered him, his entire body began to relax. But he kept his teeth clenched, using the towel to prevent himself from moaning too much. His expressions of pleasure were the only thing he couldn’t control. Thus, the towel gagged him.

Once Mairon had edged his little finger into Melkor’s oval-shaped anus, he twisted it around a bit. His other hand brought the jewel near to light up Melkor’s glistening cheeks and Mairon saw that everything looked rather sore.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Melkor shook his head, his long wet hair unsticking from his back and swooshing water around. “Alright. I’m gonna put it in.”

With his palm underneath supporting the sphere, Mairon set it between Melkor’s cheeks. Its heat brought a reddened flush there, and even more blood down south. Mairon glimpsed his lover’s massive erection pressing against the wall and wondered if Melkor _liked_ having his ass ripped open. The jewel pressed against his stretched hole, which Mairon worked open with his index finger, stretching it to the side. Melkor felt the breach, like an enormous diamond egg forcing its way back up after nine years of constipation. Then it went in, and Mairon pushed it further with his fingers until Melkor’s ass accepted it. The deeper it went, the more heat Melkor could feel coiling in his belly.

“Anughghr.”

Mairon leaned back, took another jewel and repeated the process. This time, Melkor could feel the first one go up about five inches into him and he nearly bit through the towel. He was so close to burning but managed to deal with the pain. It would stop soon enough. _‘I hope there’s no blood. Man, that feels brutal…’_

Mairon could see Melkor starting to clench a bit and once his hands were free, he massaged those pale, round buttocks. As he did so, Melkor looked down at his muscled abdomen and went back against the wall. At this angle, it felt like everything was going to fall out… and then the last jewel touched him.

Mairon nearly jumped out of his skin as Melkor twitched and unleashed a long, muffled groan. To anyone outside it would sound like the deep unclogging of a drain, but to Mairon’s ears it was absolute bliss. The furthest gem was pressed right up against Melkor’s prostate, and Mairon had only just begun to push. Dripping and hard, Melkor’s eyes rolled back.

“Oooohnn, _god_ …”

“Does it hurt?” Mairon could feel the resistance inside Melkor’s body, his inner walls unable to adapt to the insertions. He reached and took hold of Melkor’s lower stomach, which had a slight bulge in it from the fist-sized Silmarils. In circular motions he massaged, trying to evenly distribute the mass and Melkor’s thighs jerked, then his whole body, and he dragged his fingers along the wall. A horrid screech came from his nails, a little claw-like from not having been cut in quite some time. Mairon shuddered and went back to try and push the remaining gem in. Once he got it through, Melkor’s ass closed up and trembled. A ray of light could be seen from his reddened hole. Mairon stood, his head only reaching the middle of Melkor’s bent, scarred back. “It’s done.” he whispered, rubbing his lover’s back with warm hands. Overstimulated and on edge, Melkor turned, quivering. His dark eyes were red-ringed, no longer the empty black abyss Mairon often liked to stare into. The smaller man took a step back, nearly falling out of the shower. “M…Melk?”

“Mmmmnghh….” groaned Melkor, bracing himself against the wall this time with hands behind his back. He gestured with his head towards his leaking erection and begged Mairon with his heavily lidded eyes.

“Ah.” Mairon sank to his knees and took Melkor in his mouth, laving his tongue past the tip. That was all Melkor needed to explode into Mairon’s face, splattering him with thick, hot white. He made a sound like a death growl into the towel, arching back, further and further… until he fell on his ass and brought Mairon down with him. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

“You guys alright in there?”

Panting, Melkor shook his head.

“We’re fine!” Mairon shouted and knew the voice to be Silver’s, high and inquisitive. “Just attending to some, uh, injuries!”

Silver pressed his ear to the door. “Are you sure? It sounded like you were-”

“WE’RE FINE!” Melkor yelled after gasping for breath. He tilted his head back, legs splayed with Mairon seated between. “Ugh.”

“Is anything broken?” The way Melkor hit the tiles sounded like he’d smashed his tailbone or at least destroyed his ass. Mairon untangled himself from the mess of limbs and hair, reaching for Melkor’s face.

“No… I’ll live. Fuck, we have to get out. Come on.” Melkor crawled out of the shower and sat on the floor, rubbing his lower back. Mairon cleaned his own face and hair before turning off the water to join him. After toweling himself and his boss dry, Mairon helped Melkor to stand. Once clothed, the two men exited the bathroom, spandex suit stowed in the sink’s cabinet. Everyone was staring at them. Fancyman had an eyebrow raised and the Counter looked quite displeased.

“Had fun?” asked Wiseguy, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Not at all. Just cleaning up some blood, felt dirty.” Melkor gave a halfassed explanation and went to sit in a free armchair, leaving Mairon to stand nearby. “You, with the face. You done counting yet?”

The Counter scowled something awful and looked at a piece of paper nearby. “Total’s 20 million. Much, _much_ less than expected.”

“What? Twenty? That’s fucking nothing!” cried Silver, only to receive the most scathing glare his uncles could give him. Whenever Curufin wasn’t around, the kid had a habit of taking many liberties with his speech… but most people were able to keep him in check.

“20 million. As agreed, an even split. Three million, three hundred and thirty three thousand, three hundred and thirty three dollars each. Silver, your money goes to your father. Morgoth, Annatar, you can either take your portion of cash and diamonds now or allow me to transfer it.” The Counter spread his arms as if asking for a hug. “Your choice.”

“We’ll take it in a bag or two.” Melkor gestured to the duffel bags, and there were some zipped up ready to go. The Counter handed one to him, and another to Mairon. Then, one more to Melkor. They were packed tight with money and gems, the bags strong enough to withstand every single pointy diamond.

“Nice. Thanks.” Melkor peeped in the bags as did Mairon. “So, if that’s all we’ll just be going…”

“Wait. The evidence. You were going to destroy it?” Goldie reminded Mairon with a gentle smile. “The rental car’s due back in Celondim. You can dump and burn the stuff off the highway going in, and take the train back out.”

“Somebody’s gotta accompany him to make sure he does it – no offense.” Fancyman looked to Mairon, then Melkor, then laid scrutinizing eyes on Silver. “You, kid. You’re going to return the car with Annatar, and you can get home by yourself after.”

“What about me?” asked Melkor, tilting his head to the side. His wet hair spilled into his lap and he shoved it away, glaring. “I’m not going to go anywhere without my lieutenant.”

“Then stay here until he comes back, and you two can go home together. Where do you guys live now, anyway? It might be dangerous for you to return to your headquarters…”

“That’s none of your business.” Mairon replied to Fancyman dismissively and turned to Melkor. “Boss. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Good. Take this fucker and go, already. I’ll be waiting.” Melkor jerked his thumb in Silver’s direction and was surprised to hear no protest at all. Silver stood, brushed off his grey jeans and smiled at Mairon.

“Time for another road trip~”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Information  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> [mairon: 5’8 and Melkor: 7’ yes Melk is 40cm taller than Mairon]  
> [Mairon: 36 years and Melkor: 49]  
> [Added Countries: Arda, Aman. The Eldar are a human race (race like middle-eastern, asian, caucasian, african, etc) more resistant to corruption and stereotypically prettier with more pure and bright hair/eye colours than pretty much everyone else. Predominantly white skinned but those from the South of Aman are a little darker (close to equator, more sun, evolution or somethin). Two types: Avari, Quendi. Two languages: Quenya, Sindarin. Uh just base Aman off a natural environment with traveling migrant peoples if you need to.  
> Arda – that’s where this main story takes place. It’s an island in the ocean to the left of Norway and further left are the isles of Aman, Numenor, etc etc… worldbuilding is fun sue me]  
> [Also about corruption. Immoral deeds committed by humans increase their corruption. When corruption is high enough it physically manifests, first in the pointening of ears and then in the discoloration of eyes. Eventually it can drive a person to self destructive madness. Yes, I put this in because I like pointy ears. Imagine though the world’s worst leaders with elf ears and have a gigl on your own. I’m in it for sexy licking etc etc XD]


End file.
